Tisha (22 page)

“Mrs. Purdy, why don’t you tell me what’s really on your mind?”

She laughed, a lilting laugh full of good humor. “I see why you teasher, Ahnne. You are …” She stopped and tapped a mittened hand on the counter, searching for the word she was thinking of. She shook her other hand in frustration. “… Intelligent,” she said, sighing with relief. “Someday,” she added, exasperated, “I get new tongue. This one—agh.” We both laughed at the face she made. Then she was serious.

“Please, Ahnne,” she said slowly, “do not like him. It is not good … You savvy what I say?”

“Mrs. Purdy, do you think that Fred and I have done anything wrong?”

“No. I not say this. I say only that now there is mush trouble. Three days ago Mr. Strong come see me. He tell me of you and Frayd. Tell me Frayd like you too mush. People know, and it is very bad. I am shocked he tell me this, Ahnne. I not know. When Frayd he come home I talk with him. He say it is true, and I weep. I am afraid, Ahnne. People will not talk with Frayd like before. Not talk with me, with my husband, and my Isabelle.”

“Then maybe they’re not your real friends, Mrs. Purdy.”

She shook her head impatiently. “Ahnne. You are young, not understand. People here not like see white man, dark woman. Mush worse they not like see white woman, dark man. You like my Frayd too mush, Ahnne. Better to close book on that. Too many tears come your eyes, too many pains in your heart … I ask you—I tell Frayd you not like him anymore. Yes?”

I didn’t want to hurt her for anything in the world. “Mrs. Purdy …”

“Ahnne, I beg of you.”

“I’m sorry …”

She was angry, but it only lasted a few seconds, then she collected herself.

“I say good night to you, Ahnne,” she said, “but first I tell you something make me sad almost to cry. You must come my house no more.”

She started to say something else. Instead she turned and went to the door.

“Mrs. Purdy!”

She went out. I turned off the oil lamp I’d lit and went after her, locking the door as quickly as possible. By the time I caught sight of her she’d gone around the back of the store and was moving toward the shortcut home.

I called to her, but she didn’t turn around. And as her tiny figure kept moving away I felt almost the same way I had years before when my Grandmother Hobbs had stood in the road and waved good-bye to me.

For the rest of the week I was afraid that when Isabelle came to school she’d tell me that Fred wouldn’t be able to make it on Saturday. Knowing how much he loved his mother, I knew he’d want to hurt her even less than I did.

When Saturday morning came, though, he was outside with his sled almost on the dot of nine. It was still dark out—the sun wouldn’t be up for a couple of hours yet—but it looked as if it was going to be clear.

As soon as I came out I saw that Pancake wasn’t his lead dog this time. He’d put Pancake at wheel instead, directly in front of the sled, and harnessed all the malamutes up front with Shakespeare in the lead. Fred had taught me enough about sled dogs so I knew why.
It had snowed again a few days before and the dogs would have to break trail part of the way. The heavier dogs like Pancake would be more likely to break through the snow and have tough going. The lighter malamutes would pack it down.

Shakespeare was really anxious to show what he could do, or maybe he knew Pancake was back there watching him, because as soon as I was tucked in the sled and Fred yelled “Mush!” that whole team took off as if it was their picnic they were going on.

Once we were out of the settlement, Fred launched into a chorus of Oft,
Susanna
and they really pushed into their collars. For the first hour we moved along at such a good pace and it looked so easy that I asked Fred to let me try driving.

“Might be a little hard for you,” he yelled.

“No it won’t.”

“We’ll be hitting some hummock ice soon, so maybe you better wait.”

“I’ll bet you I can do it.”

“You sure now?”

“Positive.”

We changed places and it seemed so easy at first I wondered why he’d hesitated. I started to sing Ta-ra-
ra-boom-dee-ay
and all the dogs worked so hard that for the first time Shakespeare wasn’t setting the pace. But between having to jump off to keep the sled from tipping and trying to manipulate the lead lines, I found out that it took a lot more strength than I thought to keep the sled on trail. I finally decided to give up when we hit the hummock ice. It was like going over slippery rocks. Sweating and hardly able to breathe after a while, I said, “Fred, maybe you ought to take it.”

“You sure you want me to? You’re not doing bad at all.”

“I’m getting a little tired.” It was all I could do to hold onto the handles.

“There’s only about another quarter mile before we’ll hit the ridge, then it’ll be downhill.” He didn’t turn around and I didn’t realize he was trying not to break out laughing.

“I don’t think I can make it.”

“Sure you can.”

“Fred, I mean it. My hands are killing me … Whoa!” I yelled to the dogs. It came out like a whisper and they didn’t pay any attention. “Fred—”

He was trying to keep a straight face, but he couldn’t.

I didn’t see anything funny about it. “If you don’t take this right now I’m gonna let it go.”

He was laughing so hard he could barely yell whoa to the dogs. He stumbled out of the sled, trying to stop, but every time he looked at me he’d start all over again. Finally I started to smile in spite of myself. He took me in his arms and gave me a big hug, then he held me away from him. I couldn’t think of anybody who ever looked at me the way he did then, unless it was Granny Hobbs. Only it was a lot different, and it made me feel a lot different. I had all I could do not to tell him I loved him right then and there. Because I did. Maybe I hadn’t had that much experience with boys, but that didn’t matter. I knew I’d never felt this way about anybody and that I never would again about anybody else. And I saw in his eyes that it was that way with him too.

Once the hummock ice was behind us we moved along fast, and finally we reached the crest of a hill from where we could see West Fork joining the Forty Mile River. Ahead of us stretched endlessness.

Months before the river below had been running, rushing along so fast that there didn’t seem to be any force on earth powerful enough to stop it. But now something had. Something held it in a mighty grip, freezing it solid, freezing West Fork all the fifteen miles back to where it began, freezing the Forty Mile all the way to Steel Creek and beyond to the Yukon. The sun was just coming up over the mountains—blood-red and cold. I felt as if I was standing in the mightiest cathedral that had ever been built. There was no end to it, and no beginning. All I could do was look at it and worship.

We found a picnic spot at the base of a soaring face of rock, and Fred tied the dogs. They were pretty well-trained, but they still had enough wildness in them so that if they spotted a rabbit or some other small animal they’d take off after it. In a little while, what with
the fire and the bright ball of sun, it was warm enough for us to take off our parkas. I made some tea and we sat drinking out of tin cups.

“You think we’ll ever get to go to the roadhouse with each other after the dance?” I asked him.

“No.” He took my hand and held it in his own. There were cuts all over his from where the skin had been torn by the cold steel of the traps. My own hands were chapped and rough, but compared to his they were slender and soft. Most of his fingernails were broken off.

“Look at the difference,” he said.

“Next time you come over I’m giving you a manicure.”

“I meant look how light yours are—how dark mine are.”

“I like your hands.”

“You know what I’m talking about. We shouldn’t even be here, together like this.”

“What can anybody do to me, take back more pots and pans?”

“It’s no joke. They can be a hard set, some of these people. When I told my mother we were going on this picnic … Well, I guess you know how she felt. She told me she went to see you. She’s really upset.”

“How about you?”

“I’m worried. About you and about my mother.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Well, I do. If I had any sense I wouldn’t have taken you out here all alone.”

“Do you want to go back?”

“No.”

He put some more wood on the fire and then I moved into his arms. After a while I didn’t feel too well.

“What’s the matter?” Fred asked me.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I think I’m dizzy from holding my breath every time you kiss me.”

“Then what are you holding it for?”

“Aren’t you supposed to?”

“I never heard of that.”

“That’s what I always thought.”

“If you breathe through your nose a little it’ll be easier. Try it.”

I tried it and it made all the difference in the world. Up to then I’d been wondering why kissing someone had been so much trouble but now I saw how much fun it really was. You learn something all the time, I thought. I could have kept on all day after that, except that my lips started to burn after a while. “I just learned something else,” I said.

“What?”

“Why Eskimos rub noses. Their lips are always chapped.”

“I don’t rub noses.”

“You’re only half-Eskimo.”

He smiled at that, then a moment later his eyes flicked to someplace in back of me. “We’re being watched.”

I tried to sit up, but he held me tight. “Don’t move too fast,” he said. “Just turn your head slowly.”

I did what he said, but I didn’t see anything.

“There,” Fred said, “standing by that rotted spruce.”

I finally saw him—a shaggy-coated moose. He’d been feeding on some willow, but now he was still, looking our way. He was tremendous, the racks on him wider than I was tall—maybe six feet and covered with white winter fuzz. He didn’t seem to see us.

The sled was only about ten feet away, Fred’s rifle slung across the handles. He started to ease away from me.

“Let him go, Fred.”

“Anne, that’s fresh meat—eight hundred pounds of it. Think of it,” he said, “pickled tongue, braised kidneys, liver, heart, steak. You’ll have enough for the whole winter.”

“But we won’t have a picnic.” He’d have to butcher it right then and there and it’d be a mess of blood and entrails. He thought about it, then waved a hand toward the moose. “Have a good dinner,” he said. The moose saw the movement, dipped his head and shambled off.

After we ate we took a walk out onto the river. It had frozen smooth in the center, but near the banks it was a mass of twisted shapes that looked like a sculptor
had gone crazy. On our way back to the sled we were moving through a thick tangle of buckbrush when all of a sudden the whole brush came alive and exploded. I thought it was some big white animal jumping up and I screamed. The air churned with the flapping of wings—a whole flock of ptarmigan I’d flushed. In a moment they were gone.

When we got back to the sled I was all for building up the fire and staying there, but it was dark already and Fred said we should get back.

We hadn’t seen another person the whole day, and on the way back I kept imagining we never would again, that we’d just go on and on through the moonlit night until we came to some magic place that we’d never have to leave. I leaned back in the sled and stared up at the heavens, imagining that we were on our way up to them, gliding into the stars on a trip to the Milky Way.

I came back to earth with a jolt, because suddenly there was an ominous crack from under the sled. Right after that the bottom dropped out from the right runner, the sled tipped over, and the next thing I knew I was tossed out like water from a dipper.

I thought I was going to land soft, but I didn’t. There was a crust of ice under the snow. I crashed through it and landed with a jolt on bare ground about a foot below. Fred went tumbling too, but he got to his feet right away, waded across snow that cracked and gave under him like pie crust and charged into the dogs. They were on solid ground, but they’d been jerked off their feet. As soon as they got up they started snarling and fighting with each other and tangling themselves up in the lines. Fred had to kick a few of them before they settled down and we were able to take stock.

We’d been lucky. We were shaken up, but aside from a few bruises we were all right. It could have been far worse. We’d gone through some “shell ice” that had formed over a shallow basin. Rain had probably filled up the basin, then frozen on the surface while the water below had seeped into the ground. It was one of the hazards of the trail.

The sled was on its side, but it wasn’t damaged. The dogs’ momentum had carried it to the edge of the basin and it hadn’t gone through. We were able to right it fairly easily without even unharnessing the dogs, and then we were on our way again.

It was after six when we reached the settlement. Fred said good night to me on the porch. “See you at the dance Friday night,” he said.

A few minutes later I’d changed into some slipper moccasins and Nancy and I were preparing supper when she told me we were going to have a visitor later on.

“Who?”

“I’ll give you one guess.” She acted as if I should have known who it was. “He’s from Eagle.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“Really? From the way he talked you’d think you were engaged to marry him.”

“Now I have to know who it is.”

“Cabaret Jackson.”

A little later on Cab stomped in, all dolled up in his Saturday-night cowboy clothes. He’d taken a bath at the roadhouse and pomaded his hair so that he smelled like a barber shop. He brought me a big heart-shaped box of candy, and just as Nancy had said, he acted for all the world as if the two of us were just one step away from the preacher if I’d just say the word. He was as loud and brassy as when I’d seen him in Eagle last, but he was such a good-natured grinning fool that I just had to like him.

He was leaving in the morning, he said, and he wanted to take me over to the roadhouse for some dancing. I told him that I had a headache and wasn’t
feeling too good, so he said in that case he’d stay over and take me for a sled ride the next day and supper the next night. I got out of the sled ride, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer on the supper, so I said if he’d take Nancy too I’d go, and he settled for that.